


The Quality of Men He Has Around Him

by mcicioni



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, Set immediately after 2.02. Hints of pre-slash. My first attempt in this fandom.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: Flint and Silver have read the same book.





	The Quality of Men He Has Around Him

“Did you send for me, Captain?”

The bruises on Silver’s face are turning yellow, but his head is held high and his step is jaunty. The warmth in his eyes as he stresses the last word seems to be at least partly genuine.

“Congratulations are in order. For the vote, and for the new coat.” He looks Flint over, slowly. “It suits you.” He almost plonks his backside down on the chair opposite Flint’s, has a last-moment second thought, and straightens up.

Flint gives him a tiny nod and a barely perceptible flicker of the eyelids. “Sit. And a degree of congratulations may be in order from me as well. Your divide-and-conquer strategy had its price, but appears to be working.” 

“And impressing you,” Silver says with a small lopsided smile.

Flint does not dignify him with an answer and pushes an open book across the table. “This made me think of you. Read the end of the third paragraph.”

Silver takes the book, and their fingers brush. He clears his throat and begins to read: “ _But one must know how to colour one’s actions and to be a great liar and deceiver. Men are so simple, and so much creatures of circumstance, that the deceiver will always find someone ready to be deceived._ ” He looks up into Flint’s eyes and returns the trace of a smile he finds in them. Then he adds casually, "Yeah. He's right," and for a moment he frowns, dropping his eyes. He shrugs, briefly concentrates, and says, “Hang on. There’s another good bit towards the end.” 

Flint narrows his eyes. “Know _The Prince_ by heart, do you? How the fuck …?”

“Shh.” Of course he’s not going to answer; deflecting questions comes as naturally to him as breathing. “It goes something like …” Silver swiftly leafs through the book, finds the page he’s looking for and reads, with his head down and his expression hidden behind a curtain of curls: “ _The first opinion that is formed of a ruler’s intelligence is based on the quality of the men he has around him._ ” He gazes at Flint, without grins or smiles, and reads on, his voice determined. “ _When they are competent and loyal, the ruler can always be considered wise, because he has been able to recognise their competence and to keep them loyal._ ”

A spark of fondness begins to grow, bright and warm, somewhere in Flint’s chest. He raises an eyebrow at Silver and nods agreement, allowing a corner of his mouth to lift. And a memory strikes him, short and unsettling. The first night on the Spanish man-of-war, on the way back to Nassau, he was sitting in the mess, alone, his eyes closed, his mind back in the time when Thomas was quoting Genesis: “ _But the Lord beheld the man made in His likeness, and He beheld his solitude, and He said, It is not good that he is alone. And the moral of the story: everyone needs a partner._ ” And Thomas’ voice had stilled in Flint’s head, and Flint had opened his eyes, and Silver was right in front of him, grabbing a bucket, turning it upside down and sitting close enough to Flint that their knees touched. And he had openly admitted that he wanted to help Flint regain control of the ship because he needed the gold to be free. From the sea, from fighting. From Flint himself.

And Flint had looked at him, and for the first time had begun to really see him, manipulative and honest, cynical and hopeful. And alone, against anyone and everyone: a fate accepted, the shit-eating grin a mask hiding resignation and wistfulness.

James McGraw needed someone who was passionate about both politics and ethics. James Flint needs – fuck knows, he has enough on his plate as it is.

“You can go.” He holds out his hand for the book.

Silver gives the book back, and lets his fingers rest for a moment on Flint’s wrist, sketching the ghost of a movement. Their eyes meet. Silver smiles – a real smile, with real interest, and something else as well, something Flint can’t unpack right now, time’s short, there are urgent things they must focus on. 

“Out,” Flint says, not ungently.

The door closes behind Silver, and Flint gazes at it, allowing unformed thoughts to float through his mind for a few moments – strategies, rulers and followers, loyalties, trust. Partners. His index finger absently strokes the unexpected warmth lingering on his wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> For A, with all my gratitude.


End file.
